There's Something About Harry
by Triola
Summary: Draco Malfoy was not obsessed. And Pansy may go screw herself for even daring to suggest so. ONESHOT


**Title:** There's something about Harry  
**Author name:** triola  
**Category:** General  
**Sub Category: **none  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** Draco Malfoy was not obsessed. And Pansy may go screw herself for even daring to suggest so.  
**DISCLAIMER:** I no own.  
**Author notes: **Oh glorious obsession! I love Draco, he's such a sweetie.

------------------------------------------------

Draco Malfoy was not obsessed. No, he was not. And Pansy may go screw herself for even daring to suggest it. He merely had a lot of hate to go around and some people deserved it more than others. It was as simple as that. Just because one person was very easy to hate and rant about, it did not mean he was obsessed by that person. No, on the contrary, he always had an air of indifference when it came to Harry Potter. A cool and calm exterior, almost on the verge of ignoring, because he knew that was what the dark haired nuisance hated the most. When people ignored him. Draco had always wondered why, but he didn't quite know how to go about finding out. He had tried a couple of times, but the closest he ever got to learning anything at all about Harry's past was when he eavesdropped on his friends. But that only told him that Ronald Weasley could look shifty and that the Granger girl for some reason lowered her voice when talking about cupboards. It was a strange affair and not one he dwelled on a lot.

Now, Harry himself, he never talked about his past. Or his home, or his family, or his old friends, or anything relating to the place where he grew up at all. The place he still visited every summer. Draco had seen him on the train station, being picked up by some fat Muggle guy with a moustache the size of a scruffy cat. He never looked quite as thrilled as one would have expected from a guy who was going home over the summer hols. And then there was the fact that Harry never went home over Christmas, nor over Easter. Which led him to believe that for some reason Harry really didn't like his home. Or maybe it was his family. Or both perhaps. But nevertheless, there was clearly a lot of dislike going on, hidden beneath layers upon layers of too large clothes and tasty, tanned skin. Eh, pasty. _Pasty, _tanned… oh, fuck it. The point was that Harry Potter was not as saintly as everyone made him out to be. He disliked his family to the verge of hating, a trait that was usually reserved for rebels and second generation Death Eaters. Of which he was neither. Which meant Harry Potter was something completely new and unique.

Many things Draco had observed over the years had led him to this conclusion. One was of course the hates-his-family-but- is-still-not-a-rebel part, an other the defends-all-things-righteous-yet-constantly-breaks-the-rules bit. Next on the list came has-thousands-of-fangirls-but-is-still-a-virgin, closely followed by has-messy-hair-and-glasses-and-horrid-clothes-but-is-still-lusted-after. And last, but not least, we have the most confusing part of them all. Does-not-rise-to-the-bait-and-pushes-Draco-up-against-a-wall-when-Draco-torments-him-but-only-looks-at-him-in-a-way-that-makes-Draco-feel-bad. Not that anyone, and especially not Harry Potter, could ever make Draco Malfoy feel bad, mind you. It was just this queasy little feeling in his stomach, not bad per se, but you know, slightly discomforting. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore as the years went by. Draco wished he knew what Harry did and how he did it, so that he could find a cure. Because he couldn't go around feeling bad every time he fought with his enemy, that was just not done! And it was not like he would stop anyway. Bad feeling or not, those few times when he finally managed to make Harry really angry, those were the best moments of his life. Those green, green eyes would flare up in a way that looked almost otherworldly, glowing like nothing Draco had ever seen before. Or no, that was not entirely true, there was one thing. The one thing he tried not to think about, but that he had become more and more fascinated by ever since he first looked into Harry Potter's eyes six years ago. The one thing that he could not forget, his worst fear, his greatest pleasure. Avada Kedavra.

The name of the killing curse made the blood freeze in his veins and his heart beat as in a frenzy. Or, at least he assumed it was the killing curse. Because if it was something else making him feel like that when looking into Harry's eyes, then he was not sure he wanted to know about it. What you don't know, can't hurt you. Except, Harry could. Either with his fists, or with his words. Usually his words. Draco knew what Harry would say even before he said it, but it still hurt. Knowledge does not protect you. Harry was living proof of that. If knowledge could shelter someone, then Hermione Granger would have had Harry so guarded nothing could ever harm him. But it couldn't, and she wouldn't. Thought it didn't stop her from trying. Draco had seen her in the library day after day, reading up on defensive spells and curses. Usually he wouldn't have looked twice on a bookworm like her, but she was close to Harry, and you can learn a lot about a person by looking at the people they keep as friends. Although, if that was completely true, Harry would be a book loving nerd on one side and a Quidditch obsessed moron on the other. But he was neither. He was something completely different, something unique, something utterly Harry.

Draco loved that almost as much as he hated it. But no, not loved, never loved. Liked, maybe. Or even respected. Kind of. But it didn't really matter, did it? Because the phrase went 'almost as much as he hated it', which meant hate was the main emotion, as it was with everything Harry Potter related. Draco hated nothing, absolutely nothing, as much as he hated Harry Potter. He hated the way he walked, how he dragged his feet along as if he had all the worries of the world on his shoulders. He hated the way he dressed, the way his clothes made him look malnourished and pale. He hated his hair, how it looked as if someone had been running their fingers through his hair when it was not theirs to touch. He hated that he was so horrible at potions that Seamus Finnigan had to help him. Seamus Finnigan!

But most of all, Draco hated that Harry hated him. Who was he to hate Draco, when he didn't even know him? Who was he to choose Ronald Weasley over him? Who was he to refuse to fight Draco with as much passion as Draco fought him? Who was he to pull away? Who was he to make Draco's blood boil and his heart stop? Who was he to haunt Draco's dreams and invade his thoughts? Who was he? Yes, who was he, if not Harry Potter. Only Harry. Always Harry. Draco hated no one as much as Harry Potter, but he was not obsessed. And if Pansy even dared to suggest so again, there would be pain involved.

------------------------------------------------

A short, rambly little thing. Whaddya think?


End file.
